


Parallel Lines, Never Intersecting By Definition

by GalekhXigisi



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Claiming, Fallen Angels, Gaslighting, M/M, Manipulation, Nesting, Panic Attacks, References to Supernatural (TV), Scars, Trans Male Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Vampire Logic | Logan Sanders, Werewolf Creativity | Roman Sanders, Werewolf Morality | Patton Sanders, Winged Anxiety | Virgil Sanders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-11-12 17:53:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18015557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalekhXigisi/pseuds/GalekhXigisi
Summary: He remembered his lover and standing guard, but the next thing he knew, he was falling. Now, he has to learn how to live like an earthling would.





	1. The Fall

Virgil didn’t know how to describe what he was feeling. Maybe pins and needles? Maybe lava pressing against his skin? Maybe a fire being lit up and destroying his entire body? He wasn’t sure, but it was so painfully _there,_ wrecking his body, pulling at his pale skin. He knew he was _falling,_ at least. The world whizzed by him without remorse for the consequences. He could see the ground, watching himself fall so quickly. He felt sick, physically feeling it.

 

Sickness is a disgusting feeling, one that makes his stomach feel like it’s flipping inside out and his throat burn from stomach acid and acid reflux, things he had never one wanted to expierience. He never envied humans, not in the least, not for things like _this._ These were things he hated, wouldn’t dare wish it on any of the higher up angels that seemed to dislike him so, because his wings were dark and bigger than mosts, despite him being literally the youngest and smallest angel.

 

His chest felt heavy, heavier than ever. Bindings fell from it, revealing something that even angels couldn’t escape. He _did_ envy humans for their technology, for what they could and couldn’t do to the human body, for how fast they could heal. He wouldn’t lie, they had a God Mode or One Hit KO type of body, which terrified him, but it was, admittably, cool. His chest, though, burnt as flesh built up, more prnounced not than it had ever been. THe fabric stayed wrapped around his body, though, not tight but sitting there like a bow.

 

He didn’t know why he was falling. All he’d known was that De had been with him last, right beside the Gates. The two were there as stationed guards, though nothing ever _actually_ happened there. It was more so just for angels to stand around for hours on end, perfectly still. If there were any issues with they guards, they would be beat the higherups, punished for ‘crimes.’ It wasn’t actually a crime, though. Simply moving while on guard shouldn’t have been a crime. He, personally, hasn’t been punished for that, but he knew his much older brother had a time or two in his odd life.

 

He covered himself, shaking as the ground inched closer and closer. He couldn’t see where he was falling, not anymore, but he wrapped his six wings around himself, ready for the collapse. If he even attempted to stop himself, he knew he would break a wing or two, and that took far too long to heal, a year or two. Not to mention, it was incredibly fucking painful.

 

He knew he had collided, thoughhe couldn’t feel anything. What he _did_ know was that he couldn’t breathe. Between this suffocating body, the clothe seemingly not hiding anything anymore, the dirt and fuck knows what in his mouth, as well as the painfully obvious everything being so physical made his brain run too fast and his lungs stay unable to keep up. He couldn’t keep up with anything, attempting to fan his face while wiping away the dirt and grime. All of his own touch made him flinch, a continuously painful and useless process. Tears mixed with everything, choking sobs just making everything _worse_ on him.

 

At least he knew nothing was broken. He knew he had skinned up more than a few places, but he wasn’t _broken,_ not completely. THere was maybe a fracture or two, but that was it, nothing far too serious. Unfortunately for him, he could feel eyes peeling closer to him. He stumbled himself up from the slight crater-like dent he’d left. He grabbed whatever was close enough to be grabbed, which was actually a rather large treebranch that was still lit on fire from his fall.

 

He took a quick survey of his surroundings, finding that it was a deep forest, covetted in darkness. He had little to no hope of seeing anything, even with the mix of fire and moonlight alike, or his angellic grace that still feuled him. The only difference with fallen angels was that they were banned from heaven, though they still kept ahold of all their other powers.

 

A figure moves forward, just barely visible through Virgil’s all too clear panic. He probably looked just as terrified as a child escaping their captor. He knew he looked like a mess. His dirty body, wings in desperate need of a preening, shaking body, tears, black eyes with bright irises, fleckles glowing with fear, dark eyebags, little to not clothing, long and messy hair- Yeah, he stopped thinking, attempting to calm his breathing so he could speak.

 

He opened his mouth to call out a threat that _stunk_ of vampire, but the only noises that came out were a choked sob and pitiful whine. Instead of fighting, he drops the stick, falling to his knees. He holds his head, choking out sobs as he begs, “Please, just kill me,” though it sounds knowingly more broken.

 

THe vampire crosses over, hands held up. Two different things follow, both of which Virgil _knows_ are werewolves. While none of them could _actually_ kill him, he still preferred the option of his life ending over keeping it going. Not when he’d lost everything he’d known, he’d worked so hard to achieve. His brother, the only one he had thought liked him, had pushed him to fall, and he had fallen _hard._

 

One of the werewolves moved forward in quick strides, soft words breaking through Virgil’s terrified panic. “We won’t hrt you,” they coo, “not at all. We want to _help_ you.” They plop in front of him, not caring about the dirt that would clearly be collecting on them. Their soft voice speaks once again, “I’m Patton, and these are my boyfriends, Logan and Roman. We need you to breathe, though, we would like to help you in any way you can.”

 

“Please, don’t hurt me,” he whimpers, responses changed this time. “I’m ju-just a fledgling, I can’t do much-ch.” His painful birsts in sobs, thankfully, were calming. He forced himself to breathe, Patton’s voice once again carrying to him. He wasn’t sure what they’d said, but their voice was easily calming the fallen fledgling. Two other voices ring through, but he blocks them in favor of focusing on his own breathing.

 

It takes him more than a few minutes, paired with the calming voice of the other in front of him, coaching him through breathing exercises. Finally, he forces himself to look up.

 

When he opens his eyes, he finds a soft face, one that seems so kind. A blue polo cover their top, a tied sweater on their shoulders that Virgil can only say reminds him of Emily Elizabeth’s cousin. He thinks her name is Jenna, but he can’t remember, mostly because Clifford had been one of the few things he had seen in a personal Heaven up there. The memory makes his breath hitch,though he forces it away instantly.

 

The other vampire is tall and thin, a fancy, black shirt matched with a blue tie and dark pants. The last of them was dressed more like a prince than anything, clothing clearly expensive and probably comfy. Vrigil wouldn’t deny thiking it was soft.

 

“I’m Roman,” the prince-like one speaks, kneeling down and offering a hand. “As my boyfriend said. Would… Would It be alright if I picked you up so we may take you soemwhere safe? Staying her may not be the best option, and you seemed a little wobbly, as well as being injured. We wouldn’t want you hurting anymore than you already are.”

 

Virgil wants to protest, wants to fly away. His eyes turn back to look at the wings. THey’re not damaged, just dirty and uncoordinated. They ached from feathers getting matted, stuff together and full of muck. He pouts at the sight. THey ache for too much for the strain of even attempting anything. He needed to preen them before considering anything unless he wanted to be grounded for a month. His entire body aches, deep inside of him feeling disgusting and awful. So he pouts and slowly nods, not trusting his own mouth to not release another pitiful noise.

 

Roman carefully moves forward. “I’m going to put one hand under your bottom and thighs and the other roughly mid-back to pick you up, bridal style. Would that be alright, or would you like something else?”

 

Virgil hesitates, thiking out the words. Eventually, he holds up a thumb, mouthing the word, _‘good.’_ He had meant to make it a full word, sound and all, but it was difficult. He wasn’t exactly used to physical bodies yet.

 

The prince makes quick work of acting one what he said he’d do. He’s exact, avoiding the gaping wound on his shoulder that still bleed, oozy but clotting from the mud and such. He clings to Roman, attempting to make sense as the two walked beside them. Patton kept sending worried glances while Logan stared dead ahead, brows furrowed. They walk like that for a while, Virgil eventually having buried his head in Roman’s shoulder and began to let the tears fall. No one commented on it, instead letting him cry in silence.

 

The three arrive to a home. It’s far from small, but it doesn’t exactly look like a mansion that he had seen so many people boast about. Logan opens the door, letting the two inside with a smile. Patton follows, then speaking, “You can come in, Lo.” The vampire follows, though Virgil is entirely sure he doesn’t have to. Vampires didn’t need permission more than once, as long as they were still allowed to in the owner’s head.

 

“Would you like to shower?” Roman asks the one in his arms, successfully getting his attention. Purple eyes stare back, still glowing with his freckles. While they had dulled down, both turning more into their original brown, they still glowed with impending worry. “Or would you like to sleep? Eat? Change? Gosh, there are a lot of options here.”

 

Virgil hesitates. His mind moves quickly, but his mouth lags on a response. He softly speaks up, “Shower, please?” He pauses before clarifying, “I’m not sure I will be able to bathe myself. I am… in pain.” He looks away, unsure of how to properly word it. He felt as if he was overstaying his welcome already.

 

“DO you have your consent to bathe you? Or would you prefer one of us to help, or be by yourself?” Logan’s words are soft, carrying kindness with them.

 

“Any help is appreciated,” the youngest remarks. “My name… is Virgil, by the way. I’m a boy, I swear. And I’m sorry for all the trouble I have put you through or most likely will.” His wings ruffle, though it’s mostly from the pain of them.

 

“Hey, Virgil, that’s okay,” Patton speaks quietly, “we’re here to help and if trouble comes from that, then we’ll help still.” He smiles, moving closer to them. “Now, come on, let's get you in the shower and all cleaned up. It looks like your wings could use a wash or two while we’re at it.”


	2. Chapter 2

The fallen angel isn’t sure what to feel with the three carefully running their hands over his body. As it was, they didn’t mind the nudity, and neither had he. Not  _ really, _ honestly, thanks to Logan. He had suggested running a bath with bubbles so he didn’t have to deal with anything…  _ unwanted. _ So now, he sat in the water, face devoid of emotion as he stared at a couple of bubbles in his hand. 

 

The room was large, painted a light blue. The lights were dimmed as the four had spoken of boundaries, though Virgil wasn’t exactly sure where his own lied. The bath was much more of an indoor pool than anything, which was rather excessive, but Virgil preferred it like that. It was easier to sink his wings into, soaping up the feathers slowly. Patton was currently making work of getting out the dirt and cleaning up a few of the bloodied patches. 

 

“You okay, V,” Patton asks softly. He doesn’t pay mind to the two that washed his skin and hair. 

 

Virgil nods slowly. “Yes. It’s just… so much different than what I’m used to.” 

 

Roman’s brows furrow as he ran a soaped rag over the wound on his shoulder. It was already stitched together, a nasty pink, but clearly healing nonetheless. “How so?” 

 

“We had… Versions of your Cage Fighting. These were to the death, sometimes.” He shudders at the reminder, pulling his arm away from Roman to show jagged scars. There were multiple, some a plain white, others looking new and scabbed. There was even one that was a nasty purple, looking more like a claim with magic than anything. He points to the purple one. “I was the lowest rank. That just means you start out fighting with the higher-ups. I’ve been there for years.” He looks at the scar with a wistful sadness. “This was from De. It’s a mark of his grace, sort of the angel equivalent of a claim on someone.” 

 

“He… De claimed you?” Logan frowns. “Who’s De?” 

 

“He was sort of a mix between a lover, best friend, and caretaker? Well, only friend, aside from two other angels, Emile and Remy. They had each other claimed as lovers, but that’s not the point here. De was supposed to protect me from the other angels, just like Remy protects Emile, but that’s  _ different _ for them. Claims are permanent, things that you genuinely  _ can’t _ remove. It’s just feeding your own grace into someone else, which leaves a mark.” 

 

“Yours is purple? I would have expected your own color to be purple.” 

 

Virgil shakes his head at Roman. “No, no, it  _ is _ my grace. De’s claim has been ripped away, his was yellow.” He sniffles softly, forcing down what would knowingly be a sob if he let it escape. “He’s the reason I fell. We were on guard and he just…  _ pushed.” _ Virgil shoves his arm under the water, no longer wanting to stare at the reminder of how broken things were. “It’s just so… different here. You’re not immediately bombarding me with swords like when I was first created.” 

 

“Why’d they do that,” Patton asks without a second thought. THat earns a warning glare from Logan, though Virgil doesn’t care. He was ready to overshare about the shitshow that was Heaven. 

 

“My wings, actually. It’s not normal for them to be black. Remy had dark wings, yeah, but they weren’t  _ black. _ Anything outside of white, brown, golden, or grey are seen as bad omens and things to be looked down upon. The only other angels like me were Lucifer and Samael, so you can imagine what that means.” He shrugs softly, sighing. 

 

“How’s the arm,” Roman asks instead. 

 

“S’fine, Ro.” 

 

After that, the four fall into a tense silence, one that they can’t exactly say they enjoy. 

 

-

 

Virgil had been given a large shirt and boxers for clothing, mostly because the others really didn’t exactly know what to give him. Pants weren’t a need, not really. The shirt was awkward, pulling it over his wings. Eventually, Logan just ended up suggesting they cut a hole in the back, which was followed through by Roman and a trusty knife. Virgil had been full of concern, because  _ why the heck didn’t you just use scissors? _ Patton, thankfully, cleaned it up after that. 

 

The youngest of them sat on the back of couch now, enveloped in a large blanket as he stared at the television. He was beyond confused at what stood on the screen. “So… Castiel is clearly in love with this human, why doesn’t he just ask him on a date?” 

 

Roman shakes his head, snorting. They had only watched one episode, Roman saying that they had started somewhere in season nine. It was a show that ran a few years before the supernatural world had been accepted and had also been a large part  _ in _ accepting it.  _ Supernatural, _ as the other had said it was named, held the two brothers and their angelic friend. 

 

“Sam seems a lot like another Samael. He fell for caring far too much about humanity, the exact opposite of Lucifer.” Virgil turns to Roman with his brows furrowed. “Sam is the best character so far. He seems sensible. Why doesn’t he convince his brother to say something?” 

 

Patton lets out a laugh just in time for Logan to come into the room, just as formal as ever. “Even he knows the two are in love,” he chokes out to his lover. 

 

“But it’s so obvious!” Virgil throws a hand out, which is rather awkward with him being swamped in blankets. His eyes flit back to the television. “Sam seems really sad. I want to hug him.” He stuffs a few pieces of popcorn in his mouth. “Is he alright? He seems  _ really _ sad.” 

 

“He is,” Logan replies matter of factly, sitting on the couch with his legs crossed. “He was Lucifer’s vessel, he and Michael toy in the cage-” 

 

“Spoilers, Logan!” Patton accuses in a chirp. 

 

“We’re watching from season nine, they clearly survive from there. He is spoiling himself by watching so late in the series early on.” 

 

Yet, thirty minutes later, the youngest was asking, “Where’s Cas?” 

 

“He doesn’t come in until season four,” Logan replies. 

 

“Season four? Sam looks so young here. He’s like a…. A baby moose, maybe? Too big to be a deer but too tiny to be an adult deer.” 

 

Roman couldn’t hide his laughter. Not then. 

 

And yet, ten minutes later, the three watching as Virgil lets out a yelp. “She’s dead? How can she be dead? She could have become a main character! Why didn’t Sam tell her he was a hunter? They could’ve hunted cases together and gotten married and-” 

 

Patton interrupts Virgil, “Because she’s completely human.” 

 

Logan smirks. “Actually, in the original script, she was supposed to be a demon that lead him on for years and was implanted in his life purely to manipulate him until eventually leading a certain someone into his life, ultimately making her love for him completely fake and nothing more than her manipulation.” 

 

“That doesn’t make this any better,” Virgil yells in reply. 

 

-

 

Virgil isn’t exactly sure how to reply to  _ sleep. _ Angels could sleep, yes, but when they slept, it was usually for months at a time, even years, which usually came after a great injury or centuries of being awake. And now, his eyes were slowly falling shut, forcing himself to stay awake as the fourth episode faded out. He jumps at some point, his heartbeat at the odd place where it got too low and his body reacted. 

 

“Tired,” Patton asks softly, smiling as he nods. “Do you want to sleep in our bed?” 

 

“No,” Virgil calls all too quickly, his mind panicking. He shakes his hands in front of him, his face blushing brightly. “If an angel asks another angel to sleep in their bed, or  _ nests, _ as we call them, it’s the equivalent of a marriage proposal! You have to be bonded before that!” His face stays bright red, freckles glowing pink in embarrassment. 

 

Patton’s cheeks flush in return. “Oh, no, I didn’t mean-” 

 

“I know, it’s just… Cultural differences.” 

 

“So… guest bed instead, then?” He attempts to recover himself, face still pink. 

 

Virgil nods. “Yeah, that’s good.” 

 

Minutes later, Virgil found himself in a large room, a swarm of blankets covering the bed around him. The way he had laid them was the same way you would in a bed. Nesting took months of built up trust to earn. They weren’t exactly near that, not yet. He was ashamed to say that with the realization that he had nested with De, the need to next would be large, but he would hold out. His trust had dwindled in more ways than one. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr: GalehkXigisi or Transheman
> 
> Instagram: Todorokishootme or Assbutt666
> 
> Discord: Shooketh Whomst#2679
> 
> Twitter (SFW): DavenderLav
> 
> Twitter (NSFW): DaveyWinchester
> 
> Kik: AdrienSatan
> 
> Thomas Sanders/Fanders Amino: 🍍Lavender Pop🍍


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